The Consequence of Revenge (Consequence 2)

I’d never considered myself an angry person, but lately there was a feeling within me that seemed to be building into this horrible thing I couldn’t control. I felt anger at every turn—at myself, my parents, even Milo for abandoning me and marrying Colt just when I was starting to get comfortable with my place in the world.

Over the past few weeks, the anger had turned into a simmering rage at feeling worthless because I hadn’t been working.

Colt got the girl because Colt had a job. Well, that and Milo had been obsessed with him for years . . . but still, it made me wonder what I had to offer.

What did I have? I had money, but no purpose, no real direction for what I wanted to do.

The rage grew.

I literally had so many options I didn’t know which one to choose and then felt like a guilty dumbass because how many people can say they have that many good options in life? I had everything handed to me. I should have been happy. Instead I was lost and confused, unsure of my place in the world and why I even mattered. People work for two reasons. To pay the bills and because they like it.

I didn’t need to pay bills.

But I wanted to like what I did. I just didn’t know what I liked, not anymore.

“Hello?” Amazon snorted. “You alive?”

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” I snapped.

Amazon pulled back a bit, her eyes widening.

“Go sit down,” I ordered.

“But—”

“Sit.” I lifted her off my lap—a bit impressed with myself that I was able to do so, considering her obvious height advantage—and followed her as we walked toward the back of the plane, where the rest of the girls were sitting.

Amazon ducked into her seat and looked down at her hands while the rest of the group fell into a hush.

A hand touched my shoulder. “Max.” Rex chuckled. “Didn’t expect you to wake up so soon!”

“Nightmares,” I said coolly. “You know how it goes.”

Rex squeezed that same shoulder. “We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes, why don’t you go back and—”

“No.” I licked my lips and watched as the girls all shifted nervously in their seats. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

“But—”

“Thanks, Rex, you can go now.” I shrugged away from him and walked up to the first row of girls. Three of them. Each had manicured nails, perfect sleek dark hair, and perceptive eyes. The ones you can tell are calculating your every move.

So I did what I do best.

I played their game.

Because one thing was for certain. I wasn’t going to play the victim on the Island—and I sure as hell was going to have my own streak of fun.

Not only were my best friends going to be watching from back home, compliments of the network streaming select episodes online, but apparently my life had made room for some changes.

And this was what a change looked like.

Twenty-five eager women.

None of whom I could trust—because they all wanted to win money. Who knew if love was on the table?

But that fit in just fine with my life plan—because I’d decided a few weeks ago that if I couldn’t have someone who could be my best friend and partner, I was going to stay single the rest of my life. No time for the headache that came with relationships, and I’m pretty sure God only made one Milo.

So I zeroed in on the first three girls, purposefully marched over to them, and hovered over their seats so they could get close enough to smell my cologne, near enough to see my smile and the flicker of my eyes. With a smirk I winked. “Hey, girls.”

In a fluster they all started speaking at once.

It wasn’t until someone nudged me in the back that I realized the camera crew was filming everything.

Game. On.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BECCA

The minute Gina returned I knew something was up. Max didn’t look like himself. Not that in the one day I’d known him I actually knew what normal looked like, but he had dark circles under his eyes and a confidence about him I’d missed during our initial run-in.

In fact, his face basically said, “Screw off” to the entire world.

Was it wrong to find the anger marring his face slightly attractive?

I swallowed and tried to look away when he sat down next to the three youngest girls on the show. They’d decided to group together—alliances were getting built and there I was still drooling over the guy who, when we first met, had used the worst pick-up line known to mankind on me and actually appeared to believe the crap himself.

Laughter sounded from where Max was leaning over the girls. One of them reached up and touched his chest. I squirmed in my seat while the girl on the far left whispered something in his ear.

His eyes widened and then he took a step back and looked around the rest of the seats, his face completely white.

“Are you sure?” I heard him whisper to the first girl.

She nodded. “The producer said not to tell.”

Right. Like I said, they were the youngest. And HELLO, the producer was standing a few feet away. Surely he’d hear her say that, unless that was part of her strategy. The camera crew focused in on Max. His face went from white to flushed and then white again.

Curious, I watched as he slowly walked up the aisle and disappeared.

Okay. I know I was supposed to stay in my seat. And I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care, I just . . . he looked upset and . . . I was a barista! I made people happy for a living, right? One cup of coffee at a time? Wasn’t Starbucks’ entire mantra to make the customer happy?